


Plumb the depths of every sea

by gloss



Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports - Peeing During Orgasm, post-cotw, smutswap19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 07:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18442268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "I find myself with something of a full bladder, Ray."A long northern highway in the middle of the night.





	Plumb the depths of every sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [d_b_w](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_b_w/gifts).



> Thanks to K & L for audiencing. <3
> 
> Title from [The Whole of the Law](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lydG-cc87Mo&list=RDlydG-cc87Mo&index=2).

The highway stretches out before them, immensely long but invisible save for the cone bored into the dark by the truck's headlights. Fraser has warned him, several times already, about road hypnosis. Each time, Ray's snickered and told him that he's a big boy, he's not so easily swayed by such things.

But each time, he also pinches the meat between his thumb and his hand, then bites the inside of his cheek. Not that he's hypnotized, but just in case. Best to be sure. Safe, not sorry. All those Fraser-type convictions and sayings that sound stupid but turn out to be true.

Not that Fraser himself abides by them, _especially_ not safe-over-sorry. He'll _talk_ a good game, of course: butter wouldn't melt in the man's mouth unless he decided to let it. But throw the chips down, back him against the wall, and Fraser'll make some damned weird decisions, strange calls, altogether reckless leaps of faith.

"I said, _Ray_."

Ray manages not to jump at the sound of Fraser's voice, but it's a close thing. "I'm here! What?"

"Ray," Fraser says, and clears his throat. "Ray."

"Right here," Ray replies. "Hands're at ten and two so don't even start with me."

"Your hands are fine, Ray."

"That's what I said."

"However—"

"However _nothing_ , Frase! Driver's in charge, just the way it is, law of nature and the jungle, so you can zip it."

Fraser is silent for long enough that Ray has to glance over. Fraser is looking ahead, steady as a rock. His cheeks look hollow in the spooky light from the dash, and his eyes are glints in bottomless shadows. He looks good. He always looks so damn good, it ought to be a rule or statute or something.

"What is it?" Ray finally asks.

"Nothing."

Ray snorts at that, harder than he'd meant to, such that he has to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Before Fraser can chide him for taking his hand off the wheel, Ray says, "Don't 'nothing' me. What is it?"

The tip of Fraser's tongue flickers at the corner of his mouth. It's barely anything, and Ray is far from being a teenager, yet the sight sends a crazy horny little thrill zip-zapping down his chest.

"I find myself with something of a full bladder, Ray."

If he weren't doing 100 kph at the moment, Ray would be banging his forehead against the steering wheel. It takes everything he has to draw a deep breath and speak calmly. "Fraser."

"Ray."

"Fraser, what did we say?"

"'We're driving straight through, no stops, no pauses, just straight on til morning'," Fraser recites promptly.

"Got it in one," Ray tells him. "So either you hold it or you grab yourself a bottle."

"Ray...."

"I don't like it, either, but those right there are your options."

"They don't _have_ to be," Fraser says.

"You're a practical man! You can do this!" He doesn't need to remind Fraser of everything that he could do. Fraser obviously knows himself far better than Ray did, even after Ray's years of close observation and wax-waning frustration and deepseated delight.

"Perhaps," Fraser begins, but then stops.

"Fraser, you and me both know you've done way gnarlier things! Wrestled wolverines, eaten seal fetus, hollowed out a Tauntaun and spent a cozy night inside—"

"I beg your pardon."

Ray accelerates, just to get a little space to clear his head. He's thinking about Fraser's problem now, about the pressure he's feeling, how he's spreading those oak-tree thighs a little farther apart than usual. How he's opening and closing his hands, breathing deeply, shifting again.

This is a guy who can stand at attention for twelve, fourteen, hours at a time. Puts Beefeaters to shame.

Not Beefeaters. Shit. 

"What're they called, the guys with the big furry hats?"

"Ushanka?"

"No."

"There's the shtreimel, traditionally worn by the perushim of Israel, though of course only after marriage..."

"No, Fraser, you're not listening. Not the hat. What's the guy? Red coat, hangs out in front of castles? That guy."

"Well, Ray, that could—"

"Not a Beefeater."

"The Queens Guard," Fraser says. "Bearskin, of course." He adds, because these weird things matter to him, " _Canadian_ bearskin."

"Gross," Ray says, then remembers some manners. "But thanks, yeah, that's the one."

"You're welcome." Fraser's prompt, helpful tone is gone. He sounds distracted again, and slightly hoarse. "As to the previous subject..." 

Ray drums out a good long riff on the wheel before replying. "You can hold it."

"Yes," Fraser says, with the alacrity of the world's biggest keener. "However."

"However," Ray echoes. The smile twitches at his mouth and heat keeps building in his chest. He ought to be incandescent by now.

Fraser works his jaw. "Perhaps it could be to both our benefits if we found another approach."

He's so polite. It's ridiculous.

Ray reaches over and cups Fraser's groin, so fast that they both gasp: Ray for the heat and firmness there, Fraser for the rare surprise.

"Here's another approach," Ray says and rocks his knuckles against Fraser's fly.

"Excellent." Fraser shifts and props his elbow on the door, fist knocking against his chin. "A very welcome one."

Ray has no problem abandoning all previous claims, should a better option come along. Consistency is a hobgoblin and all that. He _could_ stick to the plan and keep on driving, or he could have some fun.

Not just a little fun, no, sir, not the way Fraser's built, but a whole heaping couple handfuls of fun. Big as the sky up here, wild and warm, that's Fraser, and he's sighing now, lifting his ass slightly off the seat, as Ray fondles him and simultaneously guides the truck down the shoulder. The gravel kicks up and tinkles against the undercarriage. 

When Ray turns the key, the lights dim and the engine grumbles and clicks down to quiet. The dark seeps up around them; Fraser's breath comes rough.

Fraser pauses, one leg swung out. Before he can say anything, Ray gives him a shove. "Out. Right behind you."

It feels like it takes Fraser a Yukon winter to finish blinking. But he does, and slides out, and Ray scrambles after him. Outside, it's chilly and bright-dark in that specifically eerie way that night gets up here.

Ray leans back into the cab to nab some stuff from the glove compartment. When he returns, barely upright again, Fraser's embracing him, kissing him, all hungry-sloppy and thorough. His jeans are open, the belt buckle clacking as they shuffle around, and he groans like an animal when Ray grabs for his ass.

"Ray, please—"

So polite, Ray thinks, and doesn't have to say, as Fraser's head falls back. His throat's a bright column against the endless sky; Ray's mouth dances down it, dragging teeth and tongue. Fraser's erection grinds and bobs against Ray's hip.

"You can hold it a little longer," Ray tells him.

 _That_ Fraser can achieve superhuman feats has never been in question. It's not the doing that counts, but the experiencing together. At least, that's how Ray thinks of it. 

When he _can_ think, that is. Right now, he's not thinking so much as moving and feeling. Letting the heat accumulate under his skin, tasting Fraser's mouth and spreading his ass-cheeks, working two sticky fingers up and down the crack as Fraser all but pants against Ray's tongue.

"Little longer, c'mon," Ray says. He's unsteady on his feet; anyone not Benton Fraser would be on their knees, or their back, by now. 

A wild sort of thrill thrumming through Ray, this horniness plied with trust, surprise all over again that he gets to do _this_ , touch Fraser, make him shake and grunt, help him close to ecstasy. 

"Ray." Fraser's voice is strangled now, his dick hard and riding Ray's hip, his hole clenching arthritic-tight around Ray's fingers. He sways back and forth, thrusting, then riding. "Please."

"Not my call," Ray says, contrary to everything so far. "YOu want to let go?"

Fraser nods rapidly, his jaw tight. Tendons stand out like buttresses on his neck. 

"Do it," Ray says, biting one of those tendons and turning his fingers inside, struggling to cross them in the heat and pressure within Fraser. "Let's see what you've got."

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Fraser says, and it sounds as filthy and needy as any other man's string of curses. He jerks against Ray, stumbles to the side, and then yowls when Ray finally get the angle right. He strokes across Fraser's prostate and hooks their legs together as Fraser rears back and groans, ejaculating and shuddering, then pissing in a series of short pulses.

He comes down slowly, murmuring into Ray's hair, muscles fluttering around Ray's hand. When Ray eases his fingers out and just holds on, Fraser sighs, long and deep and contented.

"Better?" Ray asks, retrieving a clean rag from the truck. He cleans up Fraser, tugs up his jeans and gets him tucked back in and halfway buttoned, before wiping his hands.

"Ray," Fraser says gravely, catching his hand before Ray can move out of reach. "I don't believe we're finished."

"Quid for your quo, huh?"

Fraser smiles and licks his lower lip. "Quite."

Ray claps his hands and hops up into the cab, turned out to face Fraser as he undoes his own fly. "Ready for you and that superpowered tongue, buddy."

"Ah," Fraser says as he sinks to his knees and pulls Ray closer. "Excellent."


End file.
